


First Love Doesn't Mean Best Love

by PacketofRedApples



Category: Alan Wake (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Drabble, Drunk!Alan not communicating, F/M, Failing relationship, Mentions of alcoholism, Pre-Canon, Tired Alice
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-09
Updated: 2019-07-09
Packaged: 2020-06-25 12:21:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19745665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PacketofRedApples/pseuds/PacketofRedApples
Summary: It's the same thing, over and over again. Until it isn't.





	First Love Doesn't Mean Best Love

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TwistaLolita](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TwistaLolita/gifts).



> Twista and I get confused when other people seem to forget their relationship pre-game was in a bad spot...  
> Anyways, I was delighted by this request to write them from my friend, as I hadn't written too much of Alan/Alice and wanted to give it more attempts. It was nice. I enjoyed it, however, an apology that it is so short. I love them when they're happy as well, of course, but sadness fuels me... I guess.

“What you’re doing now, Alan—all this drinking, everything-- it is going to kill you one day.” Alice says, softly as she buries herself in her husband’s arms. He’s drunk again and quiet now, drunk enough to be unaware, she thinks as she tries to force past it more often than not, but it was hard—sometimes, she wished for a reaction, any reaction.

Anything would be good enough. Hell, even if he’d hit her—it’d be better than nothing.

And it’s quiet for a while even as she tries not to wallow in the down mood, but nothing helps.

“I know…” He speaks up. For once, he speaks up. And she has to pull away and give him a good look, take his face into her hands and force him to see eye to eye.

“Talk to me, baby.” Her voice wavers as she tries not to sob then, holding her breath. He’s finally talking. She felt like a total outsider, looking in over more than just the past year, and he’s finally talking. She smiles, somber then. “We can get past this, you know.” Alice is a little too hopeful then, but he smirks at her, pressing her closer to him, once again growing quiet.

“Alan, please.” The pleading would have affected him when sober, maybe to some sort of reaction, but this time—it was nothing. It just slides off of him. Like it has been since he couldn’t write anymore. He continues pressing them together, rejecting to let go for a moment longer, before pulling away abruptly, walking past her to the bedroom.

One could suppose that hallway conversations were worth only so much…

By the time she wipes her tears and walks into the bedroom, he's passing out on the bed, fully clothed. She sighs, remembering how at first she used to bother with making him comfortable at least but now? She only bothers to take off his boots. Leaves him as in on the bed, collecting her own pillow and a blanket before heading to the living room. 

She needed to think of a way to fix this. 

As she settles on the couch, opens her laptop and browses through some generic keywords first. Shaking her head at some of them. AA meetings, rehab… It wouldn’t work. This was such a delicate issue it needed solving in a matter that would be detached enough from the media. It is then she stumbles across a title, curiously clicking on it and reading up. It wasn't ideal but perhaps this might be for the best. So she started planning…

Several days later and some phone calls followed, so yes, Dr. Emil Hartman currently was her only hope. She only reconsiders it for a split moment in the lake, before things go dark.


End file.
